


Demons Don't Get Detention, Angels Don't Hand Out Hall Passes

by skimmingthesurface



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: An angel and a demon definitely go to high school, High School, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Pining, Other, Post-Canon, Undercover, not an au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2020-10-30 02:24:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20806961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface
Summary: Adam lifted a brow. He knew things were bound to get interesting. He just hadn’t expected the two of them to show up, looking like teenagers of all things and not so much like the middle-aged men-shaped beings that had been not-so-subtly stalking him ever since that day at the airbase when the world nearly ended.Surely two supernatural entities had better things to do with their time than go to high school?---The answer is: no. No they did not. Welcome to the High School AU But Not Actually An AU It Works With Canon What Do You Mean No One Asked For This fic. Four years after the botched Apocalypse, Aziraphale and Crowley notice some strange happenings around Tadfield and a certain ex-Antichrist. As humanity’s self-proclaimed protectors, they decide a little undercover work might be worthwhile to keep an eye on Adam. And what better way than as his peers? Infiltrating the local high school? Sounds like some rather good organization. Wait, what do you mean it’s an American high school?





	1. Four Years Later

**Author's Note:**

> Get ready for all the shenanigans of an angel and a demon in an American high school that no sane person would possibly want. Food fights, dodgeball, detention, hall monitors, ducks, student council elections, skipping school, clandestine meetings between a bad boy with no street cred and a book nerd that keeps getting detention for talking back to the English Lit teacher, and promposals (Crowley invented those, utterly mortifying, utterly cringey, and darn it, he’s going to have to promposal Aziraphale, isn’t he?). It’s everything you never wanted.
> 
> This is all the result of my roommate and I's summer-long obsession with Good Omens, and conversations that borderline on crack when considering Crowley and Aziraphale as high school students. I did try to research high school life in England and make things fit that way, but unfortunately all of our ideas were better suited to American high school. Also, we went to high school from 2005 - 2009, so we're about as up-to-date on trends as Crowley and Aziraphale are.
> 
> It's also inspired by all those FaceApp manipulations going around Twitter and Tumblr that make David Tennant and Michael Sheen look like baby Crowley and Aziraphale. So when we get to that point, just picture that.

“I thought we’d have more time.”

“Yeah,” was spoken more like a sigh and less like a word, “Me too.”

What had started out as a sunny day in Tadfield soured quicker than a carton of milk left in a hot car at noon as a pair of ethereal - or occult, depending on where you stood on that argument - beings quietly observed the boy who’d once been known as the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is Called Dragon, Prince of this World, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness.

Or, as he currently preferred, Adam Young.

Now this wasn’t, at first glance, all that unusual a way for these two beings in particular to spend their afternoon. In the four years that had passed since Armageddon very much didn’t happen, Aziraphale and Crowley had taken to checking in on the young ex-Antichrist every now and then just to make sure things were tip top.

“I’m never going to say we’re looking in on him to make sure things are ‘tip top,’” Crowley had argued pointedly when they’d first discussed it, which Aziraphale had more or less ignored.

Not a fortnight since the eve of the thwarted Armageddon, the angel and demon had outlined a new arrangement for the next foreseeable century - give or take a dozen years, maybe. It went as follows:

  1. Live their lives as inconspicuous as possible, with a little tempting here and there, and a few miracles scattered about for good measure.
  2. Make sure the ex-Antichrist lived _his_ life as inconspicuous as possible, as an average, human person, with little to no interference from either Heaven or Hell.

It wasn’t a terribly detailed plan, but for the past four years - right up until that August afternoon where the tip of a pear’s stem made itself known in Crowley’s mind - it hadn’t needed to be all that detailed. Every now and then they popped over to Tadfield and had a look around. Aziraphale would hum and sigh about the sheer amount of love still enveloping the homely village, while Crowley would not-so-casually orbit him as he scanned their respective surroundings for anything remotely Hellish in nature. Each of their six trips thus far had lead them to the same conclusion: everything was perfectly, indubitably,  _ painstakingly _ normal.

Until that August afternoon, as they observed the former Antichrist, now fifteen years old, still in possession of his reality-bending powers, and still in danger of being caught in the middle of a celestial war that wanted to happen.

Aziraphale turned his gaze away from the boy, wringing his hands together as he sought out Crowley’s attention from behind the lenses of his sunglasses. “What do you suppose this means?”

“What do I suppose this means?” Crowley repeated, one brow raising as he canted his head to the side. “What do you think I suppose this means? I suppose this means we’re well and truly _fucked_, is what I suppose this means-”

Aziraphale frowned. “Oh, fine. Silly question, then.”

“_Ridiculous_ question.”

“Well, what do we do about this, then?”

“_We_?”

“Yes ‘we,’” Aziraphale huffed. “We can’t exactly leave things as they are. Untended.”

Crowley turned to stare straight ahead of them instead. “No, s’not that. Just surprised you’re actually insinuating that there is, in fact, a ‘we.’”

To be fair, in both of their defenses, four years is hardly a blink for two beings who have been on the planet for over six thousand years, so any changes to their arrangement were still new and, from Crowley’s perspective, poised to crumble with the slightest breath from Upstairs. Now, in Aziraphale’s defense, he’d thought their time spent these past four years had shown his devotion and dedication to their newly formed side. Neither had yet to actually divulge this to the other, however.

In their minds it went without saying. After all, they’d barely spent a day apart since. They almost didn’t realize it had actually been four years. They hadn’t even made a dent in their respective New Years’ resolutions. Aziraphale had yet to sell a single book and Crowley still couldn’t resist occasionally super gluing his spare change to the pavement. 

One month they stayed together for the entirety of it, flitting from bookshop to restaurant to Crowley’s flat to wherever they wanted to go without a single break in thirty days.

Crowley had offered him that lift once, and damned if Aziraphale wasn’t going to take him up on it now. “Well, you said it yourself. The next great war will likely be humanity against Heaven and Hell,” Aziraphale continued, clearing his throat as he wiggled uncertainly. “And since neither of us are… affiliated with the latter at this time, that would place us, quite firmly, on the side of humanity. Acting as- as humanity’s own celestial and- ah… infernal agents.”

Crowley was simply staring at him, not a crease on his face belying what the heaven - or hell - he was thinking. Aziraphale tugged on his waistcoat and glanced anywhere but his face while he waited for a response. When he didn’t get one, he huffed and faced him firmly once again.

“We’re humanity’s protectors!”

“I don’t remember signing up for that,” Crowley replied immediately.

“When we chose the Earth over our respective offices-”

“Yes, yes,” Crowley grumbled.

“-and our revised arrangement clearly implies that if something is amiss with us or with young Adam-”

“Adam _Young_-”

“-then we should do something about it, Crowley!”

“Well, what do you suggest? Just going to waltz over to him and ask, ‘hey, long time no see. S’just us, the blokes who tried to have you killed, remember that? Well, we were just in the neighborhood and thought we’d pop by, have a cup of tea, maybe some scones and jam and clotted cream, and just make sure your Satan-given powers aren’t still causing any trouble,’” he scoffed, rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses. “That’ll go over well.”

“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous,” Aziraphale tutted, garnering another scoff from Crowley. “We don’t know that it’s all that serious yet.”

The ‘it’ that they were referring to was in fact the changes they’d observed in the village of Tadfield as the Bentley coasted through it. Changes that didn’t belong in any normal English village. Changes that could only be brought about by an angel or demon or the Antichrist himself.

\---

What Crowley and Aziraphale failed to note, was that these changes all had a very reasonable origin. Adam Young had not done much traveling in his fifteen years, had never really seen the need to when everything he had and could ever want was right there in his own garden. If anything, he detested the little traveling that he _did_ have to do, such as going to the next town over for school and such.

Though he didn’t feel the need to go any further than the airbase, it didn’t mean that Adam wasn’t still curious about the world and the state of things, so to speak. He was very curious, in fact, always soaking up knowledge of new and unimagined things like a sponge. It just so happened that this summer he’d been given first hand accounts of very new and unimagined things that he’d never have considered before.

Despite never having gotten on prior to secondary school, the Them had been spending quite a bit of time with none other than Greasy Johnson. He’d been the head of their rival gang all through primary school, up until his parents decided to relocate across the pond to the United States, and as such took him with them. That had been four years ago, pure coincidence that it aligned with the almost Apocalypse Adam brought upon the world.

He’d come back this year to spend the summer visiting his grandparents who still resided in Tadfield, still a hulking boy, but a hulking boy that held his head high and found his true calling…

“American football?” Pepper had sneered.

“American football’s great, actually,” Greasy had told Them, a hint of a satisfied smile pulling at his lips, lined with the very sparsest startings of a mustache - something he was also quite satisfied about. “Loads of American things are. You wouldn’t believe it.”

They almost couldn’t.

“They really do sell thirty-nine flavors of ice cream?”

“And more,” Greasy confirmed.

Throughout the summer, subtle changes started cropping up all across Tadfield. An ice cream parlor called Baskin-Robbins appeared on a street corner where an angler’s shop had once been. Ice cubes had started miraculously appearing in everyone’s drinks, and there were free refills at every pub. A shop that never opened and never closed was practically built overnight on the edge of town - environmentally friendly with solar power energy and donated all proceeds to helping the rainforest and the whales, of course - right next to a diner that served neverending pancake platters and heaping piles of bacon and sausages at breakfast, lunch, _and_ dinner, aptly named ‘The Diner.’ The Diner dutifully fought to combat world hunger as well, and donated its extra food to homeless shelters in Oxford. And every TV set in Tadfield suddenly included hundreds of American channels with all sorts of shows on every hour of every day.

He’d heard of some of these things from Anathema, though she had admitted that she missed out on quite a lot of an average American childhood due to studying Agnes’ nice and accurate prophecies for nearly all of it. What she did have to say about American society was primarily negative, so it was quite something to hear about it from one of their peers, in a completely different light.

But what had Adam captivated through all of Greasy Johnson’s tales had been how different American high schools were from what they were used to. Apparently the school you went to when you were eleven, twelve, and thirteen was drastically different from the school you went to from fourteen through eighteen years of age. Whereas Adam wouldn’t see a new school unless he decided to go to uni - which he hadn’t decided on as of yet, but would have to by this time next year for his A levels. How was he supposed to pick only three things to study, then narrow it down to one? For the rest of his life? It seemed like a rubbish concept, and one he’d been all too happy to put out of his mind for as long as he could. 

Of course, Pepper and Brian and Wensleydale made that a bit difficult when they wouldn’t stop talking about it themselves, each of them eager to get on with the next chapter of their life. Only one year left before everything changed, and not in a way that Adam was all too keen on. So it really shouldn’t have come to anyone’s surprise that he decided that this year, they’d do school a little differently.

After all, it was their last chance, wasn’t it?

“You want us to try out American school?” Brian’s face screwed up in concentration as he tried to process that thought. “But how?”

Adam shrugged. “Greasy Johnson’s told us enough. It can’t be that difficult to make up. I’ve made up games loads more complicated than high school.”

“But how will our classes transfer?” Wensleydale inquired with his own frown. “They don’t actually have A levels in America.”

“I’ll take care of it,” was all Adam said, confidence radiating off of him. “You won’t have to worry about a thing. No one’ll even notice.”

“There won’t be cheerleaders at this school, will there?” Pepper scowled just thinking of it.

“Well, it wouldn’t be an American high school without cheerleaders,” Brian piped up.

“I don’t care. It’s part of an overarching societal narrative that makes girls think they’re taking control of their femininity when actually all they’re doing is what every woman has been forced to do for thousands of years. Look pretty and make men feel good. It’s not even considered a real sport.”

“Actually, it _is_ a real sport, Pepper,” Wensley began, but stopped for a beat at the glare leveled his way. “Arguably, it’s just as strenuous and dangerous physically as American football is…”

“Yes, but American football doesn’t parade the men around in tiny skirts while they wave sparkly poms in the air for the amusement of other men,” she retorted.

Brian couldn’t help grinning at that. “I’d like to see that. Can you imagine Greasy Johnson waving poms while carrying a football?”

“I’ll make sure the school isn’t sexist towards cheerleaders,” Adam assured her. “They’ll get to cheer whenever they want, not just for men’s sports. And they can wear skirts if they want, or they can wear something else. As long as the colors go.”

Pepper seemed appeased by that. “But why do you want to do American high school all of a sudden?” she asked him.

Adam shrugged. “Dunno. School’s just been a bit boring, really. Thought it might be fun to try something new.”

The Them didn’t have any arguments there, so the following day, Tadfield High School miraculously constructed itself with a perfect view of Hogback Wood and enough space for a football field, an American football field, swimming pool, and the biggest cafeteria anyone had ever imagined. Well, it actually bore a striking resemblance to the cafeteria in the TV movie _High School Musical_, but only because Adam thought it was a clever idea to have two levels in a cafeteria.

He made the mascot a mallard - because why not? Ducks were decent enough creatures and there were plenty of them about Tadfield - and the colors were a striking gold and black. Not yellow gold, like a honeybee, but a true, lustrous gold that shimmered in the flag mounted near the front doors as it caught the light of the sun in each sparkle. The black was just because it looked cool. It was every bit the high school he’d heard about in all of Greasy Johnson’s stories and in all the teen shows he’d taken to watching on the American channels.

Every teenager in the village received a letter stating that for this year and this year only, they’d be part of this pilot program to try out a new school. See how they took to it. Even some of the surrounding villages received these notices, just because the school was so large, it didn’t seem right not to include students who were close enough to make the commute. Adam didn’t mind if people from other villages would come to his school. All that mattered to him was that it was exactly where he wanted it, and did exactly what he wanted it to do.

It wasn’t his fault reality still listened to him.

\---

As innocent as Adam’s intentions were, Crowley and Aziraphale still had no way of knowing that without straight up asking him. Which was, of course, out of the question. Obviously.

“We don’t want to get ahead of ourselves. There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation for all this.” Aziraphale hadn’t stopped trying to convince himself of this the whole ride home.

Crowley made a noise to let him know he was still listening, but had no desire to actually say anything. 

Aziraphale pressed on. “Perhaps we do a bit more digging first. Make absolute certain that what he’s doing is nefarious in nature, or attracting the attention of…” His gaze flitted upwards pointedly, then down to the floor of the car, his lips pressed together in a meaningful and tight line.

Crowley pursed his own lips and shrugged lazily. “And how do you suppose we’d go about that?”

“Well, we’ve done it before. Practically for our entire existence here on Earth,” Aziraphale reasoned, slowly but surely lighting up as the idea occurred to him. “We could go undercover.”

“No.” Crowley didn’t even consider it.

“Just like we did as Warlock’s nanny and gardener. Or as humble bookshop owner working with British Military Intelligence to thwart the nazis and their terrible attempts to win the war.”

“And look how well _that_ turned out-”

“And as a wily criminal mastermind or mafia correspondent putting together a heist in Soho-”

“I was never _mafia_-”

“Just like we did as the black knight and noble knight of the round table!” he continued on excitedly.

“_No_.”

“It’s the perfect plan!”

“Do you or do you not remember just how _spectacularly_ we failed at all of those endeavors?” Crowley asked, but Aziraphale wasn’t listening.

“We’ll just poke about quietly, ensure that everything is still proving to be as inconspicuous as possible, and Adam will be none the wiser!”

Crowley exhaled on a long, loud sigh, one that went on for a good ten seconds longer than was comfortable. “Fine. Say we do this, how will we get close enough to him to make sure things are…”

“Tip top?”

Crowley made a face. “Human-ily. That things are going _human-ily_ for him.”

Aziraphale settled back in his seat. “Well, I hadn’t gotten that far yet.”

“‘Course you haven’t.”

“I assumed we could put our heads together and come up with a plan back at the bookshop. Over a bottle of wine, perhaps. I still have some of that 1921 Châteauneuf-du-Pape_._”

“Mm. How nostalgic of you.” Crowley looked away from the road, comforted by the fact that Aziraphale couldn’t see his eyes, but heedless of the fact that he could very much see that little upward curve of his lips.

Aziraphale smiled back, shoulders bouncing as he wiggled just a bit. He clasped his hands tightly in his lap, as if he needed to fight to keep them to himself, until he realized this reflex was a little outdated now. His fingers twitched as he reached between their seats, hesitating before they arrived at their intended destination.

Then Crowley met him halfway, eyes back on the road and not at all on the besotted expression of the angel to his left.


	2. Crowley Parks in Aziraphale's Garage*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angel and a demon come up with a plan. They also do some interior design.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *_Literally_, people, the Bentley needs proper protection! Good lord...

After five bottles of wine, they had a rough approximation of what an angel in Heaven’s bad books and a demon in Hell’s- well, also bad books, considered to be a good idea.

Just as they had with Warlock Dowling, they would indeed infiltrate Adam’s life to make sure he wasn’t drifting too far from the side of humanity, into either the dark or the light. But where Warlock had been raised on an estate with all manner of servants and people at his beck and call for the pair of them to slip in easily, undetected, and assimilate their way seamlessly into his life, Adam came from a different walk of life entirely. Their best chance of infiltrating - _observing_ and _ascertaining_, Aziraphale made sure to correct - would be through…

“His school?” Aziraphale leaned back, cradling his wine glass in his hands, fingertips not leaving any smudges simply because the glass knew better.

“That’s what I just said.” Crowley spread his arms out, glancing about as if he missed some kind of joke at his expense.

“Why his school?”

“We need to get close to him, don’t we? See what he’s getting up to? On the day-to-day.”

“So what are you suggesting? We take on the role of his teachers?” Aziraphale’s doubt faded, inspiration glinting in his eyes. “I could teach literature. I have just the curriculum, I-”

“No, stopping you right there. With the way the world is right now, there’s no way we’re getting close enough to observe properly as teachers,” Crowley told him brusquely, clarifying when Aziraphale merely stared at him with a slight furrow to his brow. “We’d look creepy. Which- okay, fair. Being a demon, me, I’m fine with that, but you wouldn’t do so well at creepy.”

“I would not look creepy. I would be a source of _guidance_.”

“Nah, you’d look like a creep. Nothing against you _personally_. It’s any adult these days. Can’t trust them around kids.” Crowley held a hand up when it looked like Aziraphale was about to refute him. “I’m not getting into it. Point is, no teachers.”

“Well, what then, pray tell, did you have in mind?”

“Students. Obviously.”

“Students?” Aziraphale scoffed. “Crowley, we hardly look young enough to pose as young Adam’s peers. We’d be found out immediately.”

“We’d be found out immediately if we looked anything like we do now. You don’t think the Antichrist himself wouldn’t be able to sniff out the angel and demon that helped him thwart the Apocalypse? He knows what we look like.”

“So what are you suggesting? That we change our appearances so drastically that we could pose as adolescents?” When Crowley tapped his index finger to the tip of his nose, Aziraphale pulled his lips into a tight line. “Crowley, that’s absurd.”

“S’a good plan.”

“We’ve never done anything like that!”

“What are you talking about? ‘Course we have. I looked like a nanny for six years for Heaven’s sake.” His tongue flicked out of his mouth as if he’d tasted something foul. “And you looked… well, you know how _you_ looked.”

“I was playing the part!”

“That didn’t mean you had to look like _that_.” They’d had this conversation before, dozens of times now, so Crowley nipped it in the bud before Aziraphale got too offended. “All I’m saying is that if we can do all that, changing the age that our corporations appear should be easy enough. Just smooth out the wrinkles. Like ironing.”

“Have you ever ironed anything since they’ve been invented?” Aziraphale asked, raising an eyebrow.

Crowley shrugged. “No, but I’ve seen you do it.” Of course, neither of them knew that the way Aziraphale used an iron was not at all the correct way. He’d also only tried it about three times before deciding the menial task was not worth the effort and instead expected his clothes to never wrinkle, so they didn’t. “And I said ‘like ironing,’ not actually going to take an iron to my face.”

“Obviously not.” Aziraphale settled back in his chair, rubbing his palms over his thighs as he seriously gave Crowley’s idea some consideration. “Adolescents?”

“Yeah.”

“How long would you have us… exist in such a state?”

“As long as it takes to find out something useful, I’d expect. Could be a few days. Could be months.”

Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. “We’d need to relocate to Tadfield. I’d need to close the shop indefinitely.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing, would it?”

“No.” The look he cast Crowley showed him he still wasn’t convinced. “There is still my New Year’s resolution to think of.”

Crowley waved that off without a second thought. “There’s always next year. Now you know this is our best shot to get close enough to him to see what he’s really getting up to on the day to day. If there’s any reason we should be…”

“Concerned?” Aziraphale offered, lips quirking up as Crowley nodded to confirm his guess. “I suppose you do have a point. I for one don’t have a better idea.”

“Right then. It’s settled.” Crowley leaned forward, grinning like a snake. “Time to go back to school.”

\----

Actually, it was time for them to secure a temporary residence in the Tadfield area that they could use for their enrollment paperwork. On the edge of the village, two fully furnished, semi-detached houses were both miraculously for let at the same time, and just as suddenly the required paperwork had gone through and the new tenants moved in the next day. 

The house on the left was painted in dark tones, the shingles and trim all a matte black, the only splash of color coming from the blood red front door. The windows had been recently updated, large and picturesque to take in the most sunlight in the afternoons, double-paned and perfect for keeping out the cold. The fact that they were eco-friendly was an unintended benefit the new occupant chose to pointedly ignore. 

The entire interior had been updated as well. If one were to enter the foyer of this side, one would think that it was bigger on the inside than the outside would allow. A sleek, modern kitchen with the highest end appliances available was open to the lounge and dining room, the walls that had been taken down knew better than to be load bearing. The original floorboards had also been torn up and replaced with stained concrete throughout the space and the walls were all a dark, pensive gray. Off the side of the house, what had once been a detached garage had been converted into a glass conservatory, brimming with greenery. Upstairs consisted of an enormous master suite, with a luxurious ensuite, all done up in black and silver tones, and an office better suited to royalty than one of Tadfield’s typical residents.

The house on the right, however, was a soft, muted cream color with white trim and ivy crawling up the side. For some inexplicable reason, the ivy only grew on the right, absolutely refusing to even think about creeping towards the left. The shingles of the roof were black - since it _had_ to be to go with the house on the left - but they hardly clashed with the more traditional looking house. Brick pavers overgrown with patches of grass and moss led the way up to the front door, original to the house. 

Much of the old-fashioned character that made the cottage so charming had been kept on this side, the small lattice and side-hung casement windows had seen better days, but had been as lovingly preserved as they could be. The rooms were all diligently compartmentalized and cluttered, especially the sitting room and the kitchen. The latter, in particular, was small and compact, only the basics necessary, like a tea kettle and plenty of mugs for cocoa. The only exception to the clutter was the garage. Despite the resident of this side not owning a car, a vintage Bentley found itself safely parked in the otherwise unused and empty space. 

The two homes were as different as they could be. A yin and yang of houses, so to speak. They did, however, overlook a large, shared garden shaded with pear and plum trees, no fence between them. And somehow, by some miracle, an archway opened up in their foyers to allow easy passage between them.

“Seems rather silly for us to go outside in order to visit one another,” Aziraphale had explained when Crowley raised an eyebrow at the neatly squared off trim, the only addition besides an extra bookshelf that the angel added to his side. “I thought this would make comparing notes a bit, well, easier.”

“No, yeah. S’fine. Great. Just- don’t let me catch your books sneaking their way into my side unless you want them burned.”

That night found them in the sitting room of Aziraphale’s side, two packets of enrollment papers for Tadfield High School spread out on the coffee table between them. The address for the house on the left was used for Anthony J. Crowley the Third, born October 13th and fifteen years old - Crowley had been exceptionally disappointed the thirteenth hadn’t been a Friday that year. Aziraphale had pointed out there was a Friday the 13th in February and in August, but Crowley complained that it didn’t have the same effect.

“I can’t very well have been born the day before the universal day of love for the whole world now, can I?”

“Why not?”

Crowley merely sneered, he didn’t have a better response than that.

The student A.Z. Fell decided to have been born on February 14th as his response to Crowley’s wordless complaining.

“Wait, no fair. That makes you older,” Crowley hissed.

“What does it matter?” Aziraphale asked, honestly flummoxed.

“Well, you’re not older.”

“We don’t have birthdays either, but it’s necessary for the paperwork.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes when Crowley just continued to glare at him from behind his sunglasses. “It’s not as if anyone’s going to know.”

“I will.”

“Then change your birthday.”

“I picked mine first. You change yours.”

“_Fine_.” Aziraphale changed A.Z. Fell’s birthday to All Saints’ Day instead. “Better?”

“S’better, yeah.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Good. Now that _that’s_ settled, time for the tricky bit.”

Crowley lifted an eyebrow and snapped his fingers, his countenance miraculously shifting in the blink of an eye. His corporation’s skin softened. His hair became just a little thicker on top, a side-part cutting through the silken strands to add a sharpness to his look. He’d lost some height, though it was hard to tell with him sitting sprawled on Aziraphale’s tartan sofa, and he looked a little skinnier, if that was even possible.

“You were saying? Oh…” Crowley frowned as he cleared his throat, his own voice unfamiliar to him now. “That’s different. Huh.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale inched back, his gaze wary as it flicked over Crowley’s new corporation. “Oh, I don’t like that at all.”

“What?”

“You don’t sound like- like…” Aziraphale gestured helplessly.

“Like?”

“Like _you_.”

“Don’t be an idiot. ‘Course I sound like me-” Crowley’s voice cracked and he frowned. “Just a bit squeaky, that’s all. It’ll probably stop once I break the voice in. Just not used to it.”

Aziraphale looked like he was ready to bolt. “I don’t think I can-”

“Oh, stop it, angel. It’s no different than when I look and sound more female. It’s the same thing.”

“It is not. I know what to expect when you look and sound more feminine. This… this is new.”

“Yes, it is. Good job figuring that out all by yourself. Now hurry it up.”

“Why?”

Crowley sighed heavily and flopped against the back of the couch. “Because you’re going to need all the help you can get with blending in, and I still need to figure out what kind of fashion statement I want to make, so I can’t spend all night on your clothes.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing now?” Aziraphale asked, frowning down as his current waistcoat and trouser combination. 

“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.”

Aziraphale released a huff and rolled his eyes, as if Crowley were the ridiculous one. He then rolled his neck and gave a little wiggle before he straightened his bowtie and snapped his fingers, pulling his power down from Heaven. A youthful glow emanated from him as his skin became more elastic, cheeks rosier, and his fluff of angelic hair was fuller, but otherwise remained unchanged.

“There. How’s that?” He looked to the demon for approval.

A lazy grin tugged at Crowley’s lips as he surveyed him in a slow twiceover. “Very sweet. Like a cherubim.”

The pink in his cheeks spread down to his neck as he cleared his throat and glanced away. “Very funny. I think I hardly look like a celestial being with four faces.”

“Oh, I don’t think the world could handle it if we all had to look at more than one,” Crowley teased, patting his heart before he surged up off the sofa with a stretch. “Now, what look suits this me? A.J. Crowley, high school delinquent.”

Aziraphale’s gaze snapped back to him. “Delinquent? Crowley, the whole point of this is to be unassuming. We can’t very well keep an eye on Adam if you go around committing acts of juvenile terror-”

A snap cut him off as Crowley changed clothes. His skinny jeans stayed, but his waistcoat and shirt had been exchanged for a Velvet Underground t-shirt. His boots became a pair of scuffed up trainers and a silver chain earring dangled from his right ear. He looked down at himself with a hum, ultimately ignoring Aziraphale.

“Ngh.” Crowley’s nose scrunched as his lips pulled back into a sneer. “No, going for teacher’s worst nightmare, not battle of the bands.” He snapped again and the t-shirt became a leather, studded vest with lots of zippers and lots of skin. He hummed with interest while Aziraphale sighed heavily.

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

Aziraphale snapped next and Crowley found himself in a proper school uniform, though at least he’d left all the colors black save for the red tie. The demon sputtered as he held out his arms in the stiff wool blazer, glaring at him from behind his sunglasses. Aziraphale now sported a matching uniform in beige and cream, a cheeky smile quirking up the corners of his mouth.

“That’s better.”

“Bastard. How’d you like it if I started fiddling with your clothes?” 

Crowley raised his hand as if in preparation to snap, drawing an ‘eep!’ from Aziraphale as he clutched protectively at his clothing like a scandalized 1940s pin-up model on the verge of being deflowered. Crowley had to press his lips together in a firm line when they threatened him with a smile. It wouldn’t do much good against demonic intervention, but the intention remained rather lukewarm regardless. The most he’d ever do to the angel’s clothes without consent was switch out his cufflinks for fun. Possibly change the color of his bowtie.

Aziraphale quickly changed their outfits back to their usual stock. Crowley hummed in consideration, plucking his phone off the coffee table to skim through some more options. He could feel Aziraphale watching him pace, the angel studying him as he experimented with his next look. With a snap he opted for a zip-up leather blouson over a black t-shirt. A chain dangled at his hip, fastened to two of the belt loops of his skinny jeans, which were now cuffed at the ankles, rolled up in neat pleats to show off his boots. The single earring had changed to a silver stud, and two more joined it, another silver stud on the upper lobe and a hoop at the helix. His hair style had also changed, now a gelled pompadour that really looked more suited to a 1950s greaser than a modern teen, but Crowley still flashed a grin at his reflection when he caught it in the mirror mounted on the wall.

“Well,” Crowley drawled, turning on his heel with a slow swivel, fixing his gaze on Aziraphale - his sunglasses had changed, too, a pair of aviators concealing the golden stare most humans would find unnerving. “What do you think of this?”

“I must say it’s the best so far,” he replied, taking note of the way he preened at his praise. “Though I’m still not entirely certain it’s appropriate for an institution of education.”

“It’s the 21st century, angel. Kids these days are wearing whatever they like more often than not. ‘Specially out there in America, which seems to be the model this school’s after.” Crowley picked up the enrollment papers and skimmed them for show before tossing them aside carelessly, the pages knowing better than to fall out of order on their descent. “Trust me, I’m not the one who’s going to look out of place.”

“Well, this will have to do for tomorrow. I don’t have any other clothing I can use,” Aziraphale said, then tutted when Crowley groaned. “Don’t give me that. You know I like to purchase my clothing. Any new styles will have to wait until I can find time to shop. I wonder if there’s a tailor in town.”

“Teenagers don’t go to tailors, angel.”

“Yes, but their parents might.”

Crowley threw his hands up, conceding the point for the moment as he retired to his half of the semi-detached property for the night. “Fine, but I’m not giving you a lift to school tomorrow looking like that.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll ruin my image,” he called back over his shoulder. “Can’t be a proper delinquent if I’m giving rides to the bookiest book nerd this side of the Atlantic.” There was a pointed snap and Crowley’s jacket had turned into a cream blazer. “Oi! _What_ did I say?”

“Sorry, dear, wasn’t listening. I was too _enthralled_ with all my books.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is only going to get more ridiculous. Just be prepared.
> 
> Also, though I'm sure most of you already know this, the name of this chapter (and some of the spirit behind their homes) was inspired by a series of tweets where Michael Sheen suggested that Crowley parks in Aziraphale's garage, which of course sent the fandom into a tizzy for about three days. It was beautiful.


	3. An Angel and a Demon Go To High School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam is pleased with the fruits of his labors. Then an angel and a demon show up, intending to attend his high school for some reason...

If one were to take a stroll down Soho’s Greek Street the first week of September, perusing the cafes and bars and little eateries, one might find themselves at the storefront of A.Z. Fell and Co.’s Antiquarian and Unusual Books. They would be unsurprised to find it closed, as the hours were something of a rubix cube in which the proper conditions for it to be open rarely ever aligned without some dextrous calculations and determination, though the fresh sign posted in the window would catch their attention. Penned with a flourish, ink still fresh, it stated quite plainly that the shop would be closed indefinitely while Mr. Fell performed a long overdue inventory and then perhaps would go out of town for a sabbatical of sorts. There was no estimation of when he would return and when anyone should expect the shop to open once again. It would open when he felt like it.

Beyond the initial reading of the sign, most passer-bys would continue on with their day unperturbed, barely sparing the bookshop another thought as it blended into its own background inconspicuously. It hardly wanted to draw attention to itself while it was left on its own - though not unguarded if a few demonic miracles had anything to say about it. While its owner was away, the shop’s exterior and the priceless antiquities held within it would remain untouched until his safe return. By humans and by… other sorts.

At least, that was what the Archangels Gabriel, Uriel, and Sandalphon discovered as they read the note twice and tried the door thrice - actually going as far as to jiggle the knob when miracling it open did not yield the desired outcome. 

“He’s not here?” Sandalphon frowned, squinting at the sign as if there were some kind of concealed message hidden behind the letters. “Indefinitely?”

“He can’t have left London. We didn’t order him to,” Uriel pointed out with a gentle arch to her brow. “And he likes his…”

“Books,” Sandalphon interjected for her.

“Books, yes. He likes them too much.”

“You’re right.” Gabriel clapped his hands together. “He can’t have gone far. I’m sure this is just a ploy to try and deter us and the opposition from confronting him.”

“And the demon,” Uriel added, like the thought of him alone could leave a bad taste in her mouth.

“We’ll just keep a weather eye and wait for him to return,” Gabriel decided. “Sandalphon, you take first watch. Let us know if you spot him.”

He smiled, the metal in his teeth glinting with the dangerous gleam of a golden poison dart frog’s slick skin. “Of course.”

With tight smile, Gabriel clapped a hand on Sandalphon’s shoulder before joining Uriel on their trek back Upstairs. They only needed a few words with their ex-associate. Nothing world ending, of course.

Obviously.

\----

The Bentley purred its impatience as it idled outside Crowley and Aziraphale’s temporary residence in Lower Tadfield. The demon in question leaned against the car, arms folded atop it as he waited for his counterpart to join him, only just refraining from honking the horn to annoy him into hurrying. Not that he wanted to get to school on time, no. Wouldn’t do for a delinquent to be punctual or care about attendance.

But Aziraphale would care, and he wasn’t about to spend their entire operation listening to him whinge about it being Crowley’s fault he wasn’t a shining beacon of an example to wayward students everywhere. Besides, they still had to submit their paperwork and get their class schedules. They wouldn’t need to sit for student ID pictures or whatever that nonsense was. Crowley just miracled them up a pair of them, no point in wasting any more time not keeping an eye on the former Antichrist than they needed to.

“Aziraphale,” he groaned. “Come on. You don’t even sleep, how are you not ready?” Finally the angel eased his way out of his front door and Crowley heaved a sigh of relief. “About bloody time, what kept- oh. Oh no, what’s _that_?”

“What’s what, my dear?” Aziraphale locked the door with a snap, heading down the walk with a skip in his step and a bag rolling behind him.

A backpack stuffed to the brim with books they didn’t even need yet.

“No, no, no. No, you’re not bringing that with you. It’s bad enough I have to drive you looking like that, but _that_. That will kill my street cred.”

“Your what?”

“Nevermind. Just get rid of that ridiculous thing.”

Aziraphale lifted it up as if it weighed nothing and set it in the backseat. “After I spent all morning packing it? Out of the question, Crowley.”

“What could you possibly need to bring with you that you needed to spend all morning packing?”

“One must always be prepared. I have pens, and pencils in case they don’t permit the use of pens. Quills and ink in case they  _ do _ permit the use of those- you know how I prefer my penmanship when I write with a good quill. A bit of light reading in the event we have some free time during ‘study hall.’” He looked far too delighted as he gestured with air quotes, an angelic glow radiating throughout his youthful appearance that Crowley had to look away from. “And I packed a lunch. And a second lunch in case I get peckish. And breakfast. Ah, I also have a ruler, an abacus, several notebooks, more pens in case I lose the first set-”

“Sorry I asked,” Crowley muttered, lips twitching as he watched Aziraphale count off on his fingers. “Alright. Fine, bring the abomination. I’ll drop you off around the corner. Close enough that you should still make it on time, but far enough away so I don’t have to be seen with you.”

“Excellent idea, Crowley. The less we’re seen together, the less likely we are to arouse suspicion in our peers.”

“Right.”

\----

Adam saw everything that he had made, and it was  _ very _ good. 

All of the transfer paperwork went through without a hitch. Schedules were dispersed in such a way that each class size had the ideal number of students in it. A broad brick building towered before Adam and his friends, Tadfield High School emblazoned in the middle in large, gold letters. Curious teenagers flooded the polished hallways and found their assigned lockers, all wearing whatever they wanted, the dress code as lax as one would expect when a fifteen-year-old had devised it.

The first bell rang out, a chime pleasing to the ear as it encouraged everyone to gather in their first period classes. Pepper and Brian glanced down at their schedules on their smart phones to see what they had first, Wensleydale already one step ahead with his binder color coded for each class in their proper order. Adam had tried to keep the four of them together for as much of the day as possible, but he refused to tamper with their free will and their wishes. As they’d grown, some of their interests shifted over the years. Where Pepper wanted to take a shop class, Brian was more interested in home economics and Wensleydale wanted to add philosophy as his elective. They all also picked different languages, different sciences, and only Brian wanted to participate in PE.

Still, Adam had grown used to adapting to their opposing needs, so wove his own schedule in and out of theirs to guarantee he’d be in something with each of them. Luckily, they would all be in the same history and English literature classes. He’d be in PE and maths with Brian, Latin with Pepper, and philosophy and physics with Wensleydale. 

Little did he know, he’d also made it quite easy for two others to weave their schedules around his. 

It didn’t take long for him to be made aware of this though. As the Them started up the steps to the main building, the sound of a car blaring Queen cut through the throng of students, attracting the attention of more than just the four of them. A vintage Bentley swerved into a parking spot, miraculously sandwiched between two cars with the perfect amount of room between it and them. The music cut off in the middle of what sounded like “Killer Queen,” and the rumble of the engine silenced.

“Tosser,” Pepper scoffed as a bloke with an excessively gelled and puffed up pompadour slithered out of the front seat, his leather jacket and precisely distressed skinny jeans quickly announcing to any and everyone just what kind of statement he was trying to make. “Who does he think he is?”

“Dunno. Never seen him before.” Brian frowned as he gave him a once over. “Why’s he walking like that?”

“Probably part of the ‘look.’” Pepper rolled her eyes. “C’mon. History’s first. Let’s get on with it.”

She led the way in, Brian and Wensleydale right at her heels, but they all paused when they realized they were one short. Adam stood still on the steps as he eyed the sauntering teen, waltzing up to the school sans backpack. A curious expression knitted his brows together as his lips quirked up, but he said nothing as he turned to rejoin his friends. He shook his head when they asked if he was alright, shrugging off their questions as he assured them it was nothing. Just reminded him of something.

They found their classroom with ease thanks to the maps that had been emailed out - and thanks to Wensleydale who took the time to plot out each of their paths throughout the day, printed and laminated to be placed in each of their binders. They congregated somewhat in the middle, enough towards the back that Brian was satisfied without causing Wensleydale too much strain to see the board. As Adam took his seat, he glanced around at the different students chatting amongst themselves.

All except for three that is. A pair of girls had been engrossed in a complimenting contest regarding their accessories, up until they noticed the student next to them. Adam raised his eyebrows as he joined them in silently watching the boy in an oversized, beige overcoat and a shock of feathery white-blond curls atop his head unpack his backpack. Or what was passing as a backpack. The enormous rolling sack was bulging even without textbooks, even after a roll of parchment paper, a quill, ink, pens, a tartan thermos, a buttered crumpet, and something that looked like an abacus were all removed.

He noticed he was being watched as he removed a small jar of jam next. Instead of looking embarrassed, he flashed the girls a sunny smile and a wave. “Hello!” He gestured to his crumpet, jam, and thermos. “Lost track of time this morning and almost forgot breakfast. Most important meal of the day, you know. Would you like some? I brought extra.”

A second sack was procured with what looked like a complete second breakfast neatly packed together, with a second tartan thermos, too, with matching print. The girls shook their heads slowly, staring in a way that anyone else would have considered rude, but this boy hardly seemed bothered by it. He tucked the second breakfast back into his suitcase of a backpack.

“I do hope I didn’t forget anything,” he hummed, more to himself than to them, then jerked to attention as the final bell rang, hands folding neatly on his crowded desk.

Adam lifted a brow. When he created this school, he knew things were bound to get interesting. He just hadn’t expected the two of  _ them _ to show up, looking like teenagers of all things and not so much like the middle-aged, men-shaped beings that had been not-so-subtly stalking him ever since that day at the airbase when the world nearly ended.

Surely they had better things to do with their time than go to high school?

“Oi, Adam,” Brian whispered from beside him. “You know him?”

Adam leaned back in his seat, shaking his head to let it lie for now. He’d see what they were up to eventually. For now, it couldn’t do any harm to let them do as they liked.

“So far we’re seeing all sorts of kids, huh?” Brian continued, sounding rather optimistic about it. “I quite like it. Gives you a new perspective on things.”

The teacher entered the room and the chattering died down as she commanded everyone’s attention. Adam sighed. It was Mrs. Tyler, R.P. Tyler’s stiff upper lip wife. She wrote her name on the white board for everyone to see, pausing her introduction as a straggling student slithered in behind her. It was the kid with the leather jacket, fancy hair, and Bentley. He sauntered in without a care, fingers tucked into his pockets, too tight to fit anything else. Weaving between the desks, everyone watched him as he surveyed the empty ones available to him with a discerning eye, like he was shopping for the best model. At least, one would assume his eye was discerning. No one could actually see if that were the case with the reflective sunglasses he had on.

With a soft, ‘ah,’ he laid claim to a desk in the back, a perfect diagonal trajectory from the frumpy boy in the bowtie, but still a good five desks apart at least. He stared down at the chair welded to the desk, sighed heavily, then squeezed himself in and slouched as best as he could in the tight space, legs sprawling out and kicking another kid’s backpack over. The boy up front - he’d had a funny sort of name, if Adam recalled correctly, something with a  _ Zed _ in it - glanced back with a disapproving frown pursing his lips.

He couldn’t tell if it was because of his coming in late, or if it was because he didn’t pick the open seat next to him. Why didn’t he pick the seat next to him? Adam wondered. They were best mates, weren’t they?

The boy in the sunglasses ignored him, looking anywhere else in the classroom than at the boy in the bowtie. Until Mrs. Tyler cleared her throat that is, drawing everyone’s attention back to her. She raised a steady eyebrow at this newcomer.

“Excuse me, mister…”

“Hm? What?” he drawled lazily, like her existence was the smallest of blips on his radar, then pointed to himself. “Me?”

“Yes.”

“Mm. Crowley. A.J. Crowley.”

“Ah. Well, Mr. Crowley, I shall give you a pass today given that it is the first day of class, but going forward, I expect all my students to be in their seats prior to my arrival at the second morning bell.”

Mr. Crowley’s head bobbed, nodding in consideration. “Right. So, what’s that got to do with me?”

She frowned. “I will not tolerate any funny business in my classroom, Mr. Crowley. History is not the time nor place for it.”

He released a scoff as a grin stretched his lips. “Where’ve you been? Human history’s hilarious. No one bats an eye when everyone starts tying weights to the legs of people sitting on a wooden horse - as if that’s not torture enough on its own, but a bloke puts on a top hat for the first time and goes outside his front door and suddenly people are rioting in the streets.”

That gave her pause, the other students all slowly turning around again to look at him. Apparently A.J. Crowley wasn’t done.

“And don’t get me started on Wojtek. You remember Wojtek? Yeah, you see, you lot also not only enlisted a  _ bear  _ in the army in- what was that? 1942? I think it was 1942. Definitely after 1941, I know  _that_, but that’s not the point. Point is, you promoted him to a corporal and made him the emblem of the 22nd Artillery Supply Company. I mean, s’great moment in time for bear history, big fan of bear rights, me, but rather funny one for humans all things considering. You think you would have learned from that whole mess with Caligula. Leave the poor animals out of office. I mean, a bear outranked some of your best people. Because he looked cute carrying artillery shells and drinking with the guys. S’pose stupider decisions have been made for less though.”

“I am not Polish, Mr. Crowley. I assure you I’m very much English born and bred for the past six generations at the least.”

“M’kay. What’s your point?”

She huffed out of frustration and addressed the rest of the class. “Kapral Wojtek was indeed a bear that was drafted into the Polish Army in 1942 when soldiers found the bear cub injured at a railroad station in Iran, Mr. Crowley you are correct in that, but that hardly is a reflection on the British Army, though they did fight alongside one another in the Italian campaign from 1943 to 1945.”

“Didn’t say it had anything to do with British history, just human history in general.”

The boy in the bowtie was glaring daggers at Crowley, Adam noticed, though a glare on his face looked about as threatening as a hamster with its cheeks stuffed full of marshmallows. Crowley finally looked over at him, his grin shining a bit brighter. If he wasn’t wearing sunglasses, the wink he sent his way would’ve been obvious. As it was, only the bowtie boy was flustered by it. He swiveled around and shoved a buttered crumpet in his mouth.

They were an odd pair. Definitely made things interesting though, which was what Adam wanted. The entire exchange was amusing, after all.

It did not amuse Mrs. Tyler nearly as much, however. She stared him down with a look Adam had only seen rivaled by her husband and his own father when he disapproved. Crowley was altogether unaffected.

“That is quite enough out of you, Mr. Crowley. I already told you once that I do not tolerate funny business, so you’d be wise to keep yourself in check, however challenging that might be for you.” 

“Decently challenging, I’d expect.”

“I also will not tolerate the use of sunglasses whilst indoors. Please take them off.”

“Nah, like ‘em better on, actually,” he sniffed. “Fluorescent light’s terrible for you, you know. Literally designed by Hell.”

“I  _ will _ issue detentions if I find there is a need for it. Regardless of whether or not it’s the first day of class. I will not ask you again, Mr. Crowley. Please remove them at once.”

Seemingly out of nowhere, he procured a folded up slip of paper and waved it lazily in the air. “Got a doctor’s note. They’re prescription.”

Adam saw movement out of the corner of his eye, from the boy in the bowtie, and glanced his way to see that he was looking back at Crowley again, practically withering away where he sat as he observed his counterpart’s act. Their eyes met when he sensed Adam looking at him, stiffening as he quickly turned back towards the front of the classroom, nervously fiddling with his abacus. It took him a moment, but he seemed to realize that history class wasn’t the appropriate venue for an abacus, so he quickly shoved it back into the endless chasm that was his backpack.

His rapid movements caught the teacher’s attention as she finished skimming the note Crowley handed her. “You there. Put that away. There’ll be no eating in my class either.”

“Oh?” His hands fluttered, torn between listening and keeping his food right where it was. “I’m terribly sorry, but I missed breakfast, you see. Lost track of time this morning-”

“Put it away, mister-”

“Fell.”

“Mr. Fell, or there will be consequences for you as well.”

“But-” Fell appeared stricken by the notion. “But breakfast is the most important meal of the day. And for growing children whose brains are still in the process of developing their prefrontal and parietal cortex-” He stopped when the look she leveled him with dared him to say one more word. “Or I’ll just, ah… save the rest for later… yes,” he murmured.

“Thank you, Mr. Fell.”

When she turned away, Fell looked down at his food with the most pitiful of expressions, then sighed and snapped his fingers. No one else noticed the food miraculously vanish, all packed away neatly and settled back in his bag. No one except Adam and Crowley, that is, seeing as the boy in the back made a quiet, laughing sort of noise as it happened.

Yep. School was definitely about to get a  _ lot _ more interesting. Adam’s lips twitched up. Clearly this was a good idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank my dear friend and writing partner, SylviaW1991, for the suggestion of using Kapral Wojtek as something in human history that Crowley would be amused by. And for putting up with me as I sent her everything that I thought was funny in this chapter even though she hadn't yet seen an episode of Good Omens. This chapter is dedicated to her.
> 
> Also, I thought it would be fun to have R.P. Tyler's wife as one of their teachers.
> 
> As for the classes I picked for the Them, I just thought they sounded like things that they'd be interested in. I thought about putting Pepper in philosophy with Wensleydale so they could both be impossible to debate with, but thought she'd probably get too frustrated in a class like that, and shop seemed like a better solution. With a Sociology major for a mum, I'm sure Pepper deals with enough of that at home. And Brian in Home Ec is just too cute, and gives me an excuse to have someone else join him in that class...
> 
> Next update should be next week, then there might be a little bit of a break as I work on some fics for something else and prep for NaNoWriMo 2019. Hopefully there will still be time to work on this, I just can't guarantee weekly updates at this time. We'll see how things go though! Thank you for those who are enjoying this so far!


	4. Obviously Cannibalism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So the first day of school isn't going exactly according to Crowley's plan. That's okay though. Things could be worse. They could be serving dismembered body parts as lunch in the cafeteria- oh, wait. That's exactly what they're doing, aren't they? Whoever said high school is Hell wasn't that far off the mark, apparently.

First period ended, and Crowley was out the door before the bell’s chime finished. A pensive frown pulled at his features as he considered what he’d learned so far. 

  1. This history teacher was going to be a hard one to break. All he could sense from her so far was exasperation, like she’d put up with worse. Hardly the all-encompassing dread he’d been hoping to inspire. 
  2. Their disguises were a perfect success. Adam had been in the class with them, and didn’t seem to pay them any more mind than the rest of their peers. So history wasn’t a total loss.

His counterpart, apparently, felt otherwise.

“Really,” Aziraphale huffed as he sidled up next to Crowley. “Can you believe she lumped my eating breakfast in with your delinquent behavior? She wouldn’t even let me drink my tea!”

“Criminal, I know,” Crowley muttered, adjusting his aviators with a frown. He’d gotten used to the full coverage his current pair provided. “She was all talk anyway, angel. She wasn’t going to give you detention for eating.”

“I should hope not!” Aziraphale tugged on his waistcoat thanks to a similar feeling of uneasiness in his corporation’s edited form. He refused to miracle the fit of his clothes to match, so they didn’t lay quite right on the shoulders or at the waist, making him look a little extra frumpy.

Which reminded Crowley…

“I can’t be seen with you. Stop talking to me.”

“What?”

“These kids… I don’t think they’re taking me seriously.” To prove his point, he sneered at a student that got too close to him, but instead of flinching away from him like a skittish rabbit, the teenager just rolled his eyes and muttered, ‘get over it, mate.’ “See? Not threatened in the slightest. And they’re definitely not going to take me seriously if they see me talking to you.”

“Why do you need them to feel threatened by you? We’re here to keep an eye on Adam, not terrorize children.”

“Yeah, but to do that we need to blend in, like you said. We’re undercover. And my cover is cool, unapproachable, and one misdemeanor away from getting locked up in juvie. Danger’s my middle name-”

“I thought it was the letter J?”

“Anarchy’s my game. I’m committed to being the baddest bad boy this school has ever seen and I can’t do that if people think we’re friends.”

“Right.” Crowley swiveled to face Aziraphale as the softer tone of his voice registered. “Well,” he cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. “I wouldn’t want my reputation to be tarnished by association, so perhaps it is for the best if we refrain from conversing in public.”

His voice steadily hardened the more he spoke and Aziraphale steadfastly avoided Crowley’s gaze. His eyes flitted about the crowded hall in a way they hadn’t since he’d devoted himself to their side. The demon’s posture slumped as his face softened. He shifted his stance so their elbows brushed. 

“You’ve got next watch, yeah?” he murmured.

“Yes. Physics.”

“Right, so I’ll scope out potential meeting places for us. See what we can use for a bit of a secret rendezvous.”

Aziraphale brightened up considerably. “Oh. Excellent idea, Crowley. To compare notes?”

“Precisely.”

The smile that blossomed on the angel’s face punched a hole through the demon’s gut as he found himself momentarily disarmed by it. His attempt at a shrug made him look more like a bobble head, lips pursed in a tight line. Nonchalance was a far cry from what he radiated right there in the hallway.

The staring might have continued for more than an unreasonable amount of time had someone not gone out of their way to kick Aziraphale’s backpack. Startled into letting go of the handle, both angel and demon watched as the heavy backpack toppled over like a felled tree. Crowley raised an eyebrow as Aziraphale tutted, righting the overbalanced monstrosity and dusting it off.

“Told you that’s an abomination.”

“Oh, hush. Studies have shown this is the preferred method for students to cart around their books and assignments. The traditional backpack puts too much strain on their spine and can lead to-”

“Don’t care.” Crowley brushed past him, hands tucked in tight pockets as he sauntered away from him. “Catch you around, angel!”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but fought a fond smile of his own as he watched him go off. Even if the students didn’t take much notice of Crowley’s ‘coolness,’ well, as far as Aziraphale was concerned, he certainly still stood out amongst the crowd. A hand slipped from his pocket, fingers snapping up to pluck a miracle right out of Hell. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and glanced around, but didn’t catch what it was he’d changed.

He’d probably added another earring to his collection. Or, God forbid, a  _ septum _ piercing. Aziraphale shook his head as he clucked, then rolled along in the opposite direction, trusting he would find his way to his class with no hassle.

Another misguided youth purposefully tried to kick his backpack on his way to physics, only to wrench away with a hiss of pain as he clutched at his calf, a charlie horse spasm shooting through his muscles before he even made contact. Ah, Aziraphale realized with a warm flutter in his chest. So that’s what it was.

\----

Things, according to Crowley, were not going as planned.

Not only did he fail to get detention straight off - okay, yeah, it was the first day, but how dare there be a grace period, he was being a right nuisance and if anyone should have made a teacher give up on that grace period for giving out detentions, then it should have been  _ him_, the literal demon - but when he kicked open the door to his astronomy class, no one even looked properly  _ frightened _ of him. If anything, they all looked rather annoyed, to be quite honest. Or sad. Depressed.

First day of school. Right.

He tried to find some solace in carving his name in the nice, new desk he’d chosen in the back of the astronomy classroom, then realized that maybe a proper bad boy wouldn’t want to be caught by such an obvious demonstration. So he miracled it into saying something the kids were saying these days… something like ‘abandon all hope ye who enter here.’ Yeah, that was good.

He also miracled away all the teacher’s dry erase markers except for neon yellow. No teacher in their right mind would ever want a neon yellow marker against a blinding white background. It was even better because this teacher didn’t even  _ buy _ any neon yellow markers.

Problem with using miracles though was that no one would actually know it was him up to no good. He’d need to be mindful of that. Oh well, it was still funny.

One good thing that came out of his astronomy class was that he was by a window that overlooked a little grassy alcove tucked in the back of the school. Out of the way of regular foot traffic, not facing the parking lot or the lockers… there were even some bushes for him to bully. It could do as a potential meeting spot.

He scoped it out on his way to third period - some economics, home finance class he thought might be good for a laugh, humans and their convoluted money-making schemes - and decided that it would do nicely. Borrowing some poor sap’s notebook, he tore out a sheet of paper and left a note in Aziraphale’s locker with the meeting coordinates. Hopefully the angel would check before lunch. Maybe he’d see what kind of food the cafeteria had in stock and pick up something for a bit of a picnic.

Turned out, they did not have much in terms of food at this high school cafeteria. Crowley wrinkled his nose as he stared in unabashed horror at the options available to him and his peers. To his angel, no less.

“Sloppy Joe? What in Satan’s name is a Sloppy Joe?” Crowley squinted at the menu, then dropped his gaze to the mystery meat sandwiched between two burger buns. “That looks like cannibalism. Yep. That is obviously cannibalism. Poor Joe. What did they have against Joe? If I didn’t know better, I’d say Hell put this menu together,” he muttered to himself, but the boy next to him in line heard him as he shoved past him.

“Tell me about it,” he agreed.

Crowley was not going to tell him about it.

He picked up some of the lasagna that was also being served, figuring Aziraphale would be more likely to eat something Italian than something made up of little pieces of human. He also grabbed a chef’s salad, just in case, and a slice of icebox cake for good measure. Out of the three, Aziraphale was bound to like something.

Problem was, he needed a tray to carry everything, and he didn’t look very threatening carrying a salad and a cake on a tray. He also couldn’t open the door the leave the cafeteria, and no amount of demonic glowering convinced any of the teenagers in his path to open it for him. A small flock of them felt his piercing stare and looked at him.

The curl of his sneer, the height of his hair, aviator sunglasses, and the lunch tray were too much for these humans apparently. They snorted and snickered at him as they ignored his silent demand to open the door for him. Of course he could miracle it, but that would look suspicious unless he miracled it so that it didn’t, and that was just getting into a whole convoluted mess when he was supposed to be undercover.

Fine. If they weren’t going to be intimidated by him, then he was just going to have to take care of this himself. Crowley slammed the heel of his boot into the door, kicking it open so it crashed into the wall with a bang that echoed throughout the cafeteria. The students’ murmuring quieted as eyes turning towards him. Whoops. Maybe that was a bit excessive.

Crowley sniffed and lifted his chin as he strode through the double doors. Once through, he allowed them to gently swing back into place, but not before he heard that same flock of kids burst out laughing once they thought he was out of earshot. He frowned, a sour look curdling on his face as they cackled amongst themselves.

“What’s that guy’s problem?”

“Who the hell is he?”

“What, does he not know how to use a door?”

A growl rumbled low in Crowley’s throat, but he didn’t have time to deal with them. 

That didn’t stop him from spending most of his meeting with Aziraphale complaining about it though.

“They’re laughing at me. I’m a demon and they’re laughing at me, angel. No fear. No begrudging respect or admiration. Nothing.” Crowley crossed his arms, quite firmly not sulking.

According to Aziraphale, however, who happened to have a mental catalogue of all of Crowley’s subtle lip twinges, pinpointed this particular pout as a category six, which was one degree off from a full-on sulk. “Perhaps they sense your underlying kindness, Crowley, and know that you mean them no harm,” he suggested as he licked the crumbs of chocolate cake off his fork.

Crowley groaned and rolled his eyes so hard his entire neck lolled with it. “Don’t say that. Kind people aren’t cool.”

“I happen to think they are.”

“My point exactly.”

They stiffened as a gaggle of students turned the corner, their laughter cutting through their conversation in several loud bursts. It was silenced just as quickly, their eyes falling upon the pair of them huddled behind the astronomy classroom. Aziraphale was sitting cross-legged on the ground, Crowley’s jacket spread out beneath him like a leather picnic blanket on the grass, the tray with his lunch in front of him while Crowley loomed just over him. They made for an… interesting pair. Aziraphale offered them a wave while Crowley sneered.

“What’re you lot looking at?”

Instead of scattering like ants burning in the sun under the heat of his glare, their peers scoffed and chortled, hardly scared off. “And who do you think  _ you _ are? You don’t own the school. We can do what we like.”

That did it. Crowley pushed away from the wall, one hand lifting to snap while Aziraphale scrambled to his feet. He latched onto Crowley’s wrist and tugged before he could do any harm. 

“As you should. Please don’t mind us. Just two students enjoying the- ah- the lovely campus. Yes. And now we’ll just be off. Pip pip!” He picked up his tray and Crowley’s jacket, handing both to the demon so he had both hands free to guide him away, one at the small of his back, the other cradling his elbow.

“I wasn’t going to do anything,” Crowley complained, but let himself be herded away nonetheless. “Just turn their socks to jelly or change the language of all their textbooks so they fail every class.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Aziraphale chided. “Come now, Crowley. You mustn’t take it personally. Think of it like this: clearly they’re not intimidated by you because you’re doing such a lovely job of blending in. They don’t see you as a demon because they are completely convinced of your humanity and thus do not see your presence as a possible threat. You’re incognito.”

Aziraphale wiggled his shoulders, too delighted by the notion and too adorable for Crowley to stay pissed off about. “Humans can be intimidated by other humans still,” he argued anyway. “I’ll just have to work harder. Ngk. Can’t believe I just said that. Me, work  _ hard_.”

“No one’s forcing you, my dear.”

Crowley glared at him, but it went unnoticed. Or noticed and ignored. Once they were inside, he set the tray of food down on top of a trash can so he could wrestle his jacket back on, miracling the grass stains out of it with an upward snap.

“So our next class is…?”

“Latin.”

“Right.” Crowley reached into his pocket and unfolded his schedule, giving it a quick scan, eyebrows arching gently. “We have class together the rest of the day.”

“Do we?” Aziraphale didn’t look at him, picking at what was left of his lasagna instead. “I hadn’t noticed.” He absolutely had. “I suppose that makes sense though, seeing as our task is to keep an eye on Adam. Which so far has been all on me, no thanks to you.”

“I saw him in history.” Crowley stole a bite of the cake as he leaned against the rubbish bin, hip cocked out. “How’s that going by the way? Seen anything… strange?”

“Oh yes. One of the children was on their phone the entire time in one our of classes. Didn’t even look up once.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “I meant strange involving the ex-Antichrist. And that’s not strange, angel. That’s just technology.”

“It’s rude, is what it is.”

“Didn’t say it wasn’t.” He grinned at him and managed to get away with stealing another bite of cake.

Aziraphale tutted. “You know you could’ve eaten the breakfast I brought you. I still have it.”

“Delinquents don’t eat scones and tea, angel.”

Dabbing at his lips with a napkin, Aziraphale arched an eyebrow that said exactly what he thought of that. “Well, what would you rather I brought you?”

“Nothing. Don’t pack me a lunch or breakfast or whatever it is you see fit to put in that sack of yours. I’ll just nick stuff from the cafeteria.”

Aziraphale choked on a tomato from his salad. “You  _ stole _ this?”

“Nah, bought your stuff. I know better than to try that on you. You take the fun out of it.”

“You didn’t have to. I brought my own lunch as well, I told you.”

“Well, you didn’t have to eat it.”

They looked at each other over the tray for a long moment, until the corners of their mouths were twitching, soft smiles making themselves known. Averting their gazes at the same time, Aziraphale polished off his lunch while Crowley kept watch along the hallway. Though no students were wandering about near the science classrooms on their lunch break, it was still too open for Crowley’s liking. He’d need to find a new rendezvous point. Especially if Aziraphale was going to go around looking at him like  _ that_.

“Would you like the rest of the cake, my dear?”

“M’fine. It’s all yours, angel.”

\---

“What’s the deal with those two?” Pepper scowled as she bit into her cheese sandwich. “They look familiar.”

The Them peered through the window of one of the classroom doors, watching the mismatched pair eating lunch on top of the rubbish bin. They’d sought refuge in one of the empty lab classrooms for the lunch break, enjoying sitting around the lab tables on the stools. Brian was playing with the Bunsen burner and flint striker. In Adam’s school, no one had thought to lock these things up.

Adam arched an eyebrow and shrugged. “Dunno. Probably seen ‘em around the village. Or at school last year.”

Pepper shook her head. “No, I’d remember if I saw kids like them.”

“You just said they look familiar,” Brian pointed out through a mouthful of bread.

Shooting him a look that let him know she was absolutely less than impressed him, Pepper waited for him to swallow before continuing. “Yeah, from somewhere else. I don’t think they’re from around here, but I remember them from… somewhere. Don’t any of you?”

Brian and Adam shrugged, but Wensleydale adjusted his glasses as he squinted at them. “Actually, they  _ do _ remind me of someone, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

“See?” Pepper raised an eyebrow, daring Adam or Brian to deny it now.

“See what?” Adam spread his arms out in his defense. “I don’t know what that proves. There’s loads of people in the world. Someone’s always gonna remind you of someone else. That’s just how it goes. Now tell us about shop class. How was it?”

Pepper immediately launched into a tirade about how she was the only girl in that class and how the teacher actually had the nerve to ask her if she was in the right room - “We’re in a  _ workshop_, outside by the gym and the football field, why would I go all the way out there if I didn’t  _ mean _ to?” - so Adam considered the distraction well done. It wasn’t that he didn’t want them suspecting anything, but since he’d changed everything to stop the world from ending, he’d found that his friends’ memories regarding the event turned a little hazy. They remembered enough about what they’d experienced personally and his role in it, but when it came to the angels and demons who’d shown up and actual Satan… well, that was when it got a bit too much. 

Besides, Adam was still curious to see what these two were getting up to here in his school, and why they’d even want to be here. He had a feeling if his friends knew exactly what they were, they’d demand answers and possibly spook them off. Better to keep a casual distance for now.

They seemed to be off the topic until Brian nudged Pepper as they were finishing up, just before the bell rang. “That one with the sunglasses is in my home economics class. I could do some spying if you want to find out more ‘bout them.”

“Just don’t make it obvious. Don’t think his ego needs more than his fancy car and hair already get it,” she scoffed, then frowned. “Wait,  _ he’s _ in home ec? Where you do all that cooking and sewing and make doilies?”

Brian shrugged, but nodded. “Yeah… I don’t think he knows that’s what it’s about yet.”

Adam snorted into his milk and had to cover his mouth with his napkin. A demon in home economics. Oh, he was regretting not picking that instead. He’d pay to see that.

“Make sure he doesn’t set the kitchen on fire,” Adam told Brian, fumbling for an excuse for why he was so amused. “Looks like the kind of bloke who might think that sort of thing’s fun.”

“Oh please, I bet he’s never actually done anything against the rules in his whole life.” Pepper rolled her eyes.

A demon defying the devil seemed like it might’ve been a little against the rules, but Adam didn’t argue the point. You had to pick your battles with Pepper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Joes - regardless of sloppiness - were harmed in the writing of this chapter.  
Unless they tried to kick Aziraphale's backpack. Obviously.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're still willing to keep going, I commend you for your resilience. I'm hoping to add updates to this fic at least once a week, possibly even twice if I'm able to stay productive! If you want to chat about this fic, my writing tumblr is [@skimmingmilk](https://skimmingmilk.tumblr.com) and my main is [@stephanieprime](https://stephanieprime.tumblr.com). Come by and say hi sometime!
> 
> Also, let me know if you know what the title was inspired by! If you feel so inclined, haha.


End file.
